Proof of Identification
by aliciajay
Summary: Yikes. Being a new country has its ups and downs. Especially when it involves a plethora of very good-looking countries, sparks will fly, to say the least. (Reader x England)
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: **Hetalia and all characters involved therein are the sole property of Hidekaz Himaruya.

* * *

It's dark. Everything's dark. You have absolutely no idea where you are - you just seem to be floating in empty space, all alone, and you wonder faintly if you're dead or alive.

How in the world did you get here...to this...to this state of nothingness? You don't remember a thing. But you do know that you want to get out of this - and fast. It's not so much scary but getting more disturbing by the minute. You feel...drowsy. And you want to succumb to it, even though a small bit of your mind urges you frantically not to. It'll be so comforting...

And then a bit of light shoots through the darkness and you feel yourself rise closer to reality, away from the darkness. A voice. Several voices. Someone is holding you, and even though the air seems slightly cold, you feel warmer. It gives you a bit of strength, and with it you slowly open your eyes.

The light is blinding but it's well worth the effort.

You can't quite see clearly, but you still can discern that there are two (very good-looking) people standing by looking down at you. A green-eyed young man with blond hair and rather bushy eyebrows is holding you, and beside him hovers another excited young man, also blond, with glasses and extremely energetic blue eyes. Upon closer inspection neither seems to be much older than you.

"...Are you all right?" Asks the first rather stiffly. He has a British accent.

"Y-yes..." you manage to say but it comes out weaker than you would have preferred. All of a sudden the energetic young man shouts for joy and pumps his fist in the air.

"See, Arthur, that hamburger worked! It _always _worked - you got owned~!"

"...Sure thing, Alfred," says the Englishman - Arthur - somewhat sarcastically. "Now if you can stop frolicking long enough for us to _not _freeze to death out here -"

"Oh but of course, I'm the hero~!" sings Alfred the American gleefully, striking a pose that (you can't deny) looks rather dashing. "Shall I procure for us some winter coats, then?" Arthur rolls his eyes.

"You're _such_ a git."

"I'll carry -" Alfred shouts, ignoring Arthur's last comment. Arthur gives him a look of exasperation, then turns to you, one bushy eyebrow raised.

"Can you stand?" he asks briskly.

"Uh...I think so." He helps you up and you're actually standing for the first time in...how long? You're not sure. But it feels great to be on your own two feet again. You don't much like having to depend on others.

"That's good then," says Arthur. "We'll take you back to headquarters. By the way, I'm Arthur Kirkland, and this is Alfred F. Jones, my brother, I guess you can say..."

"You didn't say my middle name!" whines Alfred. "It makes me sound more important! You need to say my _full_ name, it's Alfred F-"

You aren't listening - you're too busy noting their appearances for the first time, because you just realized something. They're both wearing what looks like military uniforms, though Arthur has a Sam Browne belt in addition to that and Alfred is wearing a combat jacket with a star on the front.

"...You're both in the military?" you ask incredulously. But you don't see any other troops...

Arthur gives you a strange look, and you aren't sure what to say to that. Then he speaks, saving you the trouble of deciding.

"What country are you?"

The question sounds a little weird (not to mention rather off-topic), but you assume he's simply asking you about your country of origin, just to make sure you haven't trespassed over any enemy lines or suchlike.

"I'm from..." That's when you realize that you do not know. At all. "I...I don't know."

"You don't know?" Arthur is giving you a look that you choose to interpret as 'I can't believe your stupidity.' "What's your name?"

"Um...my name's _ ," you say, feeling ridiculous.

"That's a human name, what's your country name?" Arthur continues to prod, while you try to make sense of what he's after.

_Are...are they not human? _you ask yourself.

"Surely you must be related to the great America himself!" Alfred interrupts, pointing to himself and giving you a hopeful look. Did he just say...

"Did you just say you _were _America?" you ask, scarcely believing your ears, and Alfred turns to you slowly, with the same expression you just saw on Arthur's face. Or maybe it's sort of different - out of the corner of your eye you can see Arthur facepalming and looking away. You decide it's best not to comment at the moment.

"But of course!" Alfred says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and that you should have understood this since your birth. (Which was...when?) "We're all countries here, don't you know?"

"What my stupid little friend here is trying to say is," Arthur says exasperatedly, ignoring Alfred's protests, "is that countries actually exist. They can be land, but they can take the form of people. That is, _human._ Like we look human. But we aren't human."You aren't really appreciating his efforts to dumb things down for you.

"So because we aren't human, we aren't limited by human things. Like death. We don't die because our countries exist and have existed for a long time. There's exceptions but we won't go into that - it's complicated. I'll just give you an example. So if you were talking about - say, France -"

"You talk about France way too much," interrupts Alfred-America rather significantly, and Arthur flushes noticeably.

"Shut up, you stupid git. So as I was saying, if you were talking about France" - he glares at Alfred, who is shaking with suppressed mirth - "there is actually someone called 'France' who represents that country. Though to be sure he has a human name - Francis Bonnefoy in this case. And if you have any brains in your head (at all), you would do well to avoid him."

"Only England - that is, Arthur - can stand up to him, that's why they always fight even though Arthur is supposed to be a _gentleman_ -" Alfred sings loudly.

"Shut _up," _growls Arthur (England?), while you simply stand there staring at them, completely bewildered.

_These people really are..._countries?

A million questions rise at once in your head. First, how could these apparent _people_ be countries? Countries are old - how could they look so young? How could they not be human? And where would the countries' citizens be? (And why are these so-called countries so good-looking - but you suspect that's beside the point.)

You push those thoughts away before they can interfere, and speak aloud. "Um...so I guess I'm a country, too?"

"You must be, otherwise you wouldn't have survived out here wearing such thin clothing as you are right now," Arthur - that is, England - points out wryly. "Aren't you cold at all?" How did he manage to sound so condescending at the same time?

"No."

"You must be from somewhere freezing, then." Although it's not much of a help at the moment.

"American, I tell you!" Alfred exclaims, looking very full of himself. "The outfit and the adaptiveness tells it all!"

"Are you serious? You hate any weather that's not American, I'm surprised you haven't complained. And 'adaptiveness' isn't even a bloody word, it's 'adaptation,'" says Arthur, annoyed once more. Is he always annoyed like this? "We're getting nowhere with this. Get back first, discussion later. Let's go - the world conference starts in several hours. Maybe we'll find out who you are then, _ ." He directs that last bit towards you.

"Come on!" Alfred tugs you forward excitedly, looking just about ready to run a marathon on the spot, but you look at the thick layer of snow on the ground and you aren't quite sure you want to start running anytime soon.

"Where are we going?" you ask Alfred, just before he whisks you off.

"We're in Russia right now, on the outskirts of Moscow," he says happily.

It still sounds somewhat far-fetched to you, but you say it anyway. "So...we'll be meeting Russia soon, then?"

"Of course," replies Arthur, taking hold of your arm and keeping Alfred from dragging you away. "His name is Ivan Braginski, and he's hosting this month's world meeting - although I suppose you wouldn't need to know that. Just know, though - he's one of the most dangerous countries out there, even more so than France. If he ever does get ahold of you...well, just call for Germany," he says dryly.

This doesn't sound too promising for your future, you think.

"Are all you countries this dangerous?" you ask before you can stop yourself. Arthur sniffs and you suppose he's too offended to answer.

"It depends," he says rather ambiguously at last. "All I can say is, foreign policy is nothing like how it's written in the books - at least, not when you're one of us."

"Don't worry, you'll live, because the hero will save you! And you can become my ally!" Alfred says airily, but you can't help feeling a little better at his words.

"Cut it out, Alfred – we don't know if _ might turn out to be our enemy," Arthur points out cynically, and you give him a glare for being a total killjoy. He doesn't notice - or, if he does, he doesn't react.

"Well if I befriend _ first there will be no enemies!" Alfred says cheerfully. "Why don't you be a little less cold for a change, Arthur? That's so outdated – you guys can become friends instead!"

You and Arthur look at each other for a moment. Then you both look away at the same time.

_Um, hell no, _you think. And you're pretty sure the same thing is going through his head, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: **Hetalia and all characters involved therein are the sole property of Hidekaz Himaruya.

* * *

"All right, we're here," says Arthur, and you look up. You've all stopped in front of a huge mansion-like house, which would be rather grand-looking if it were spiced up a bit but now just looks dreary and old and gloomy and gray with damp snow bunched up all over it in places. You decide not to mention it, though, as Alfred is doing quite enough of that already. A whap to the head, courtesy of Arthur, does the trick.

"Is this where the world conference is going to be held, too?" you ask. It doesn't seem much like it.

"Of course not," Arthur says in irritation, although he's lowered his voice, and goes to open the door, which looks old and creaky and dangerous. "It's just a secret little headquarters I made here, just in case we ever have to run from Russia or some other such eventuality."

Eventuality!?

"Don't worry, it won't happen, _ ," says Alfred, slipping an arm around your shoulders comfortingly. "Plus, I hear the place is just chock-full of magical creatures - they won't hurt you, supposedly, although I've never seen any of them. Arthur usually sees things, you know -"

"Hey! I heard that!" Arthur yells indignantly from within the house. "Says the one who believes in aliens and UFOs!"

"They're real, you uninformed idiot!" Alfred shouts. "I'm going to prove to you otherwise, one day!"

"Likewise," Arthur calls back.

Alfred huffs and turns to you. "Shall we go in then, _ ?"

"Uh, sure," you say, after a moment's hesitation. "But why are we here exactly?"

"Well, we can't exactly go to the world conference covered in snow, can we?" Alfred says. "Although I always look awesome no matter what - don't you agree?"

You laugh and walk inside, with Alfred following.

"Was that a yes or a no?" he persists. "Tell me!"

You laugh harder, unable to stop yourself, and Alfred looks slightly affronted. "Don't laugh at me - I was telling the truth!"

"Oh God," you manage to gasp out. "I just really, really admire your awesome sense of humor!"

"Really?" Alfred looks a bit mollified, and you take the opportunity to run for it before he thinks otherwise. "H-hey! Where are you going?"

As Alfred gives chase, you dodge into a dark hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath your...bare feet. You don't have any shoes on. How very interesting.

You spot a light at the end of the hall from an open doorway and you run into what turns out to be a guest room. Arthur is inside, digging through the contents of an old mahogany closet.

"You two are both babies," Arthur informs you sternly as you race past to hide behind his back, just in time before Alfred bursts into the room. "No wars allowed in the house," Arthur deadpans, successfully holding him at bay with a thin wire hanger.

"Okay, okay, I give up," Alfred says, and flops onto the fluffy-looking, very girly bed in the corner. Arthur sees him and screeches.

"Get up off of there, right now!"

"But why...?" Alfred protests, his face buried in a very pink pillow.

"I said, get up! And get your filthy face out of that pillow this instant! I spent a full three days embroidering that, I'll have you know!"

"You _embroider_?" you ask incredulously, and Arthur gives you yet another irritated look.

"Yes - is there a problem?"

"No," you amend hastily.

"Good," says Arthur before resuming his rummaging.

"By all means judge," Alfred calls out, backflipping off the bed and landing perfectly onto the floor while you watch in wonder. "(Did you like my stunts, _ ?) Anyway, I never heard of a _gentleman _who embroiders -" Arthur's ears, or what you can see of them, have turned slightly red, and you decide that isn't a good sign.

"I wish I knew how," you interject quickly, and both countries turn to look at you in surprise.

"I expected as much," says Arthur after a moment, not placated at all, while Alfred mouths "Kiss-up" from behind his back. You try to give Alfred an I-probably-just-saved-you-from-an-untimely-death-y ou-should-be-thankful-right? look, but he doesn't seem to get it.

"Oh, and here." Arthur shoves a small bundle of clothing into your hands, and you look at it and then up at him. "To change into," he says rather brusquely, causing any gratefulness you might have to melt into thin air. "I frankly don't care, but if you wanted to show up at the conference looking less bedraggled and beggarly, here's your ticket."

You _really _can't quite stand him.

Alfred is looking from you to Arthur in apparent openmouthed shock, and looks as though he might just speak up on your behalf, but you don't really feel like hearing it at the moment.

"Thanks," you say rather sarcastically to Arthur, and make for the doorway without another word.

"Toilet's at the other end of the hall, too, if you ever want to use it," Arthur shouts after you. "And hurry up!"

_How very kind of him, _you think bitterly to yourself as you look both ways, uncertain of which direction to walk in. In the end you just pick the right side of the hall because it's the farthest from where Arthur is (for a change). He seems to find you an unbearable nuisance anyway, so it would probably be best to keep as far from him as humanly possible. (Even though you're not really human, but that's beside the point.)

As you walk you think wryly that even countries aren't exempt from the flaws that plague regular humankind. But then, to be fair, you aren't exactly in a position to judge either one.

Thankfully you're able to find the right way (no thanks to Arthur) and let yourself into the small restroom. There's a long mirror at one end, and you pause for a moment to look at your reflection in the glass.

A pair of (e/c) eyes stare back at you from the mirror's depths, and you step closer, seeing your own face at last for the first time in - probably a long time. Your face is rather pale, but that's probably because you spent too much time in the cold - it might get better later. And you can see your (h/c) hair at last, just slightly messy and tangled and damp from snow, but nothing a little drying and cleaning couldn't cure.

At the moment, however, you don't much care about that - you're only rather (actually very) curious just what country you might be. But you aren't even sure how you feel about that possibility...you have your doubts, and you begin to think, amassing what little clues you know or remember about yourself in your head. It's a rather humbling little experience, realizing you're second to al these other countries who know where they belong and have a home to return to and a cause to be proud of. To them you would simply be an orphan of sorts. And that sucks. To put it mildly.

You think anyway.

There are several things you know already, might as well start on those.

First, there was the fact that you could speak English just as well as Arthur and Alfred (which was a relief). That meant your possible country was, language-wise, very well versed in English. That _was _something to start with - though not much, to tell the truth. There were probably hundreds of countries uot there speaking the smae near-universal language.

And then, second, you were found here - in _Russia. _Did that mean you were Russian? And (horror of horrors) might you possibly be related to that most dangerous of all countries, according to Arthur? You try to reassure yourself that it isn't likely. For one, you don't know any Russian - or at least, you don't think you do. Maybe, then, you were from someplace close to Russia! ...Hopefully that doesn't make you anyone's rival, or archenemy, or foe, either.

Third - Arthur had mentioned you might be from somewhere cold, judging by your ability to weather the...weather (no pun intended) here in Russia. You must've been out in the snow for quite a while then, before they found you - and you weren't dead, or weak, or anything (though maybe close to it at some point). So...that was a hint. Not a very helpful one at the moment, but a hint nevertheless...at least you won't have to be stationed in any _tropical _counry anytime soon. The thought of being in endless heat does give you a queasy little feeling in your stomach. Or maybe you're just hungry.

"Hurry up!" Banging sounds on the door and, naturally, it's Arthur on the other side. "You've been in there for almost five minutes now - I expect you out here in less than a minute, cleaned up and ready to go!"

Yup. You still can't quite shake off the feeling that they've once been military commanders - Arthur in particular.


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: **Hetalia and all characters involved therein are the sole property of Hidekaz Himaruya.

* * *

Absolutely no sun shines outside, almost no light penetrates the stifling dimness of the hallway you're sitting in, because the windows are all closed and shuttered tight. A lone lamp just above you casts a morose little glow over you only, from your head to the tips of your boots, borrowed from Arthur. If you ignore the fact that you're completely alone in the hallway by yourself, you can just barely deceive yourself into thinking you're in the spotlight, the star of some show, whose every move is being watched by an unseen audience.

After a while even this becomes excruciatingly boring, and you stretch tiredly in your seat. According to your (borrowed) watch, it's only been ten minutes, but it feels even longer. Despite yourself you feel a little anger at Alfred and Arthur - maybe a bit more at Arthur, for being mean about it. You're perfectly aware that you're not actually allowed into the meeting until you're officially recognized as a country, but there's no reason for them to leave you out here and make you feel like a total loner. Arthur especially, had done a great job of the latter. He wouldn't even let you stay at his house (well, that might be understandable) or even someplace of your own choosing.

He _had _provided you with some food - in the form of a little warm wrapped package currently lying by your side - but you hardly felt any better when Alfred whispered in your ear that "his cooking might be dangerous to people who can't stomach it." It hadn't helped your impression of the Englishman, either.

You look at the package and away again. You scuff your boots lightly along the tiled floor, then remember too late who they belong to, and sigh softly to yourself as you anticipate his reaction when he finds out. It takes up the next several minutes, carefully planning out exactly what he would say and what mean words he would use. What fun.

Finally, as the hunger pangs become impossible to ignore, you decide that one look at Arthur's supposedly lethal food probably wouldn't be too bad. Tentatively, you reach for the package and unwrap it slowly, uncovering three small scones.

...It doesn't _look _too bad, at least. It actually smells pretty good, too. But dare you try it?

In the end you decide you're much too hungry to really care anymore. Indeed, you feel as if you haven't eaten in decades. And that's saying a lot, in your opinion.

Still you hesitate as you lift a scone halfway to your mouth. Alfred hadn't seemed to be lying when he was talking about Arthur's food; and you feel somewhat inclined to trust him. But then again you feel inclined to trust the two of them at once. You just don't know why.

_Ah well, here goes nothing, _you say to yourself as you take a bite out of the scone and chew slowly. The moment you do, however, loud yelling erupts from behind the closed doors just to the right of your chair - the doors Arthur and Alfred entered into - and you can't help but get up and try to find out what's going on.

Though the doors are closed you can still hear a little, by pressing your ear to the small crack in the doorway between the hinges. There's no keyhole to look through, so this seems to be your only choice.

You listen.

You can hear many accents and many different languages, some of which you can somewhat recognize and others which sound totally out of this world. But you don't have time to worry about that because all of a sudden you can hear two raised voices over the din, one of them with a _very _familiar British accent.

"I'm going to beat the crap out of you if you insult my country any further!" you hear Arthur shout.

"Ohonhonhon~!" another country guffaws. "I'd like to watch you try, you weak little - OW! Okay, zhat does it!" There is the sound of a scuffle being resumed, and you decide you can't dally any longer. Arthur may be unpleasant but he _did _save you and you have to admit you wouldn't want him to get hurt - not over something like his country's pride, at least.

There is no time to lose. You try the door and to your surprise it opens inward. Without hestitation you dash into the room, the creak of the door barely audible over the cacophony that is dozens of countries talking or arguing or fighting - the latter of which is happening over in a corner by the window, where you can just discern two blond heads belonging to two people trading blows. They're moving so quickly that you can't quite tell who they are, but then you catch a glimpse of humongous dark eyebrows and you're absolutely sure it's him.

"H-hey! ST-STOP!" You shout, running towards them and somehow managing to push them apart. "D-don't hurt Arthur!" Arthur is speechless as you pull him aside, with the help of several other countries (who look at you oddly), and you note in surprise and relief that both of them are relatively unscathed, save their clothes which are the only indication of their fight.

Then you slowly turn to face Arthur's opponent, who is looking at you with very blue eyes. You only briefly notice that he has longish blond hair, almost shoulder-length, with a little hint of stubble on his chin. Handsome, maybe, but there _is _something about him that's not altogether...

"Ohonhon~!" he laughs disturbingly, getting a bit too close for your liking. You involuntarily take a step back, but you remain glaring at him. "Why, is zhis ze new country, _ , you were talking about, mon cher Angleterre?"

_Mon cher...that's French, _you think, amazed at yourself for actually understanding and then horrified as the truth begins to sink in. _Oh no, oh no no no...This…this can't be..._

"Ze name is France - zat is, Francis Bonnefoy," he says graciously in what you now know to be a French accent. He extends his hand, but you do not take it, just stare at it (and him) in terrified realization. "I suppose you have not yet been given a proper welcome, considering no one allowed you into ze meeting before - well, come with me, you can be sure Big Brother France will give you one to remember - OW!"

You turn just in time to see Arthur break free and give him a resounding smack upside the head. France tries to hit him back; as you look on in horror they resume fighting just as before, blows punctuated with insults, and it is hopeless to intervene.

"They are always like that, those two. But you do not have to worry about them being hurt - they would never really harm each other."

A new voice sounds from behind you, and you turn around to behold another country with the kindest-looking face you have ever seen in your life. Although you have to crane your neck a bit to look at him - he towers over you, being much, much taller. Though it isn't that cold in the meeting room, he still wears a heavy tan coat, topped off with a long thick scarf around his neck. He's also holding a pipe, which is odd and very much out of place here in a meeting room.

"I heard what Frantsiya was saying," he says to you in heavy accented English. "So you are the new country, correct?"

"Um - uh, yes, I guess so," you find yourself replying. "My name's _ ."

"Ah," he says thoughtfully. "That is a good name, da. It is very nice to meet you - my name is Russia, though you may call me Ivan Braginski..."

You can almost feel your face contort in horror as you stare at this man, this apparently innocent and kind-looking country, this obviously harmless and polite-looking and all-around nice-seeming person - _this _was Russia, Ivan Braginski, one of the most dangerous countries in the world!?

Evidently you've spent way too much time dallying and wallowing about in mental horror. Russia is already moving and before you know it he is looming over you, having captured your shoulders in a vicelike grip. You try not to hyperventilate - each one of his hands is at least several times biggerthan your shoulders!

A freaky purple aura surrounds him, his violet eyes are staring into yours with a very mesmerizingly creepy expression, and his previously friendly smile now has a hint of darkness in it. Or, you think in panic, too much.

"Become one with Mother Russia, da?" he says in a low voice.

You don't stop to think of a safe answer, you don't pause to wonder why a male country would be referring to himself as "Mother," you don't even have time to think about the implications of his obviously ridiculous question, because you've just thankfully, fortunately remembered a little something Arthur told you before and all of a sudden you're screaming at the top of your lungs, just one name.

"GERMANY! GEERMANYYYY! HEEEELP!"

And before you know it you've been forcibly wrenched away from Russia (oh God thank God), but it seems you've just flown out of the frying pan and into the fire because now you're dangling from another muscular arm and this time you're looking into the face of an extremely stern, extremely intimidating-looking country who's almost as tall as Russia and no less scary.

"U-uh...hi Germany?" you squeak, because obviously this must be Germany or you might've just died in Russia's arms back there. But he looks suspiciously at you, and it is not a good sign. All other activity, be it fighting, yelling, arguing or breathing, has suddenly stopped and the room is now deathly quiet. Maybe it was your screams for help, or maybe it was Germany's reaction - at any rate, things are looking even worse than before.

Movement at the corner of your eye draws your attention - it's Alfred and Arthur, both running towards you and Germany at top speed.

"Hey Germany, put _ down!" Alfred is saying as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened, although you can detect a slight nervous tremor in his voice. " _ 's a harmless new country we found just this morning, _harmless,_ trust me (we just don't know which country, but we're trying to find out…)!"

You wonder if you should speak up to support their point. But just as you make up your mind to do so a bubbly-looking, brown-haired country, with a funny little side curl, comes running up to Germany and tugs on his other arm.

"Germany, Germany!" he shouts, jumping up and down in glee. "It's a new country, put 'em down, I wanna see, I wanna see~!"

He seems to have quite an influence on Germany, because soon after the stern country sets you down on the floor (albeit reluctantly), and you hear both Alfred and Arthur breathe audible sighs of relief. Germany still stands beside you, though - you're definitely not going to be running away anytime soon.

"Ciao, my name's Italy~!" the bubbly country cries happily in (no doubt) an Italian accent. "Nice to meet you, _ , I've always wanted a new country for a friend, ve~!" And before you can react Italy has you trapped in a hug and is kissing your cheek cheerfully. You freeze in shock and feel your face grow hot.

"Um, Italy…" you squeak helplessly. He doesn't let go, instead cooing and burying his face in your hair. Great.

"Veneziano you _bastardo,_ let go right now or there won't _be _a new country," a harsher voice commands, just as you resign yourself to captivity in Italy's arms. The country speaking, you notice, strongly resembles Italy, from the uniform to the curl in his hair (although it's not on the side). _Must be his brother_, you think.

"But Romano, _ 's so cute~!" Italy squeals, before being dragged away by the taller Italian, Romano. You can finally breathe again, although your face still feels like it's on fire.

"All right, enough fuss," Germany's harsh voice cuts through the air, and that's when you realize you're surrounded on all sides by countries. Although Alfred and Arthur are probably milling around helplessly somewhere outside the crowd, and Italy (held in check by Romano) is still standing cheerfully beside Germany, the others don't look friendly. At all.

"So. For starters. Who are you, und vhy did you infiltrate our meeting?" Germany demands. "Are you some sort of spy?"

"N-no!" you protest, despite the fact that Germany doesn't believe you. You're going to argue this even if it's a losing argument. "I'm _not _a spy – I'm not on any sides – I don't even know who I am!" You try to explain what happened since you awoke and found yourself in Russia, condensed version. Germany still looks unmoved, however.

"Ve find that extremely hard to believe when you're armed," he says. But how could that be true? You can attest to that yourself - you have absolutely no weapons whatsoever, unless that little star on the breast pocket counts as a weapon. You check and see a bulge in one of your side pockets.

"Oh, you mean this?" You take out the small paper package that contains Arthur's scones. "It's food." Because Germany doesn't look like he believes it (oh, really now, could you have slipped a knife in there without them looking?) you open it and show him.

His reaction (as well as that of all the other countries present in the room, save Arthur) is priceless.

* * *

A/N: Please review! :D

P.S. Sorry about not having updated anything yet. But for those of you who see this, just wanted to let you know I updated Chapter Two for the eye/hair color just to be more impartial. When I originally wrote it I hadn't had posting in mind, so I totally forgot to change it. Sorry bout that! And hopefully I can get the next chapter up soon! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: **Hetalia and all characters involved therein are the sole property of Hidekaz Himaruya.

* * *

"Why - why are you all staring at me like that!?" you squeak, as the silence falls over the room once more. But it's worse this time - suspicion has turned to shock. Maybe even horror. Even Germany's mouth has dropped to the floor. "C'mon, tell me!"

A voice speaks up. It's Arthur.

"Snap out of it already, you all - my cooking's not even that bad!"

"Really, it's not that bad," you supply helpfully. You're not lying - or at least, you don't think you are. The scones had been just fine, and you didn't die - what were they all talking about anyway? And to think that Alfred had been warning you, too!

Just to prove your point you take another bite, chew, and swallow, eliciting a roomwide gasp. "It tastes just fine - why are you all so shocked?"

"See, I told you so!" Arthur looks about as proud as you've ever seen him (though you're not quite certain whether he's actually proud of _you_) - indeed, he looks as though he might do a jig on the spot.

"O-okay." It's Germany this time, who's apparently recovered his voice enough to talk. "So you _are _a country after all - I've never yet met anyone, human or otherwise, who can survive Mr. England's cooking like you."

"_Hey_!"

"Okay," you say very slowly. "So...does that mean I'm accepted as a country now?"

"Not yet," Germany says. "Until you earn the right to be recognized -"

"Aw come on, West! _ 's already passed the test!" Another country steps (or rather swaggers) forward - he catches your eye simply because he has the strangest-looking eyes you've ever seen. They're very red, and his face is rather pale in contrast. As is his hair. He's most definitely albino.

"Coming from Prussia, the king of awesomeness himself" - he points to himself - "I say ve all velcome _ into countryhood - right now!"

"And then he'll start conquering vital regions, of course," someone mutters under his breath, followed by several snickers.

"But of course," Prussia says offhandedly, barely acknowledging the comment. "That's a natural part of my awesomeness!"

You look from one face to the other with a bad feeling that's growing steadily. "What is going o-"

"All right everyone!" It's Alfred, and you give a mental sigh of relief at the familiar energetic voice. "It's pretty obvious _ 's a new country by now, all that remains is _what country. _So before everyone talks about conquering or capturing or colonizing or warring, we first have to find out who the hell _ is! And I say we start right now (no conflicting opinions allowed, of course)!" Um.

Well, at least everyone seems to be listening to if not exactly acting on Alfred's proposition.

"So who's going to assist in finding out _ 's true identity?" Alfred calls out. "Any volunteers?"

"_Moi, naturellement_."

You (as well as Arthur) start in horror as France steps to the front of the crowd and gives you an admiring glance. "You'll find I'm actually quite _efficient _at this sort of -"

"_Anyone besides France,_" Alfred amends quickly, and France subsides, looking devastated.

"I shall, da," says another voice, and yet again you are unable to stifle your terror as Russia arrives on the scene. He looks straight at you and you can almost swear his eyes are saying (or _commanding_), "Become one with me, da?"

"Not Russia either," Arthur interjects, and you watch as he and Russia exchange none-too-friendly glances. Alfred calls again, but no other country seems willing to answer, save Italy (who is quickly restrained by Romano and Germany). Finally you get tired of the wait, and decide to take matters into your own hands.

"Do I have a say at _all_ in this matter?" you ask, unable to keep a bit of annoyance out of your voice as they all stare at you again. And then, feeling very much like Arthur when he talks to you, you attempt to clarify. "Might I be able to choose who to go with, since I'm supposedly a country too, like all of you?"

This sort of thing must not happen very often, you think wryly to yourself as the other countries look at you in surprise (and maybe, if you flatter yourself, with admiration). Italy squeals again.

"If you wish," Germany says finally, and you take a look around, although you'd made your choice long ago.

"I'll go with Arthur and Alfred - I mean, England and America, if you don't mind," you say quickly, before any other country can claim you as their own.

"I thought so," someone sniggers and you wish you knew who that was so you could glare at them. But that's out of the question, plus Arthur and Alfred are giving you strange looks - Arthur's is more of an "Are you seriously actually thinking about sticking with _me_" raised-eyebrow glance that's either positive or negative (you can't be sure) while Alfred's expression is one of barely restrained excitement.

"Join the Allies, yeah!" Alfred shouts, pumping his fist in the air and running forward to give you a high-five.

"There are no alliances at this time, remember?" Germany points out sternly.

"...Oh yeah. Well, nevermind! You're joining us anyway!" Alfred shouts blissfully, grabbing you in a bear hug and lifting you up at the same time. Uhh...that scone must be moving around in your stomach right now...

"Put me down, Alfred, I've had enough hugs for one day," you try to whisper in his ear. He eventually sets you down and the starefest recommences for several more minutes.

"So...is the meeting over then?" a girl with auburn hair asks, finally breaking the silence.

"Yes, it is," Germany says, and then announces it, seconded by Alfred. "Vhy ve ever have these meetings is a mystery. Ve never get anything accomplished here anyvay."

"Oh, but I did a great job on that global warming presentation, don't you thi -"

"Yes, of _course, _Alfred, before you got interrupted for monopolizing the floor."

"Thanks _so _much, Arthur."

The room is now noisy again as everyone's beginning to leave, and you make your way through the crowd to Arthur and Alfred, following them outside.

"I don't suppose you actually _wanted _to stick with us unless it was out of necessity," Arthur says rather condescendingly, and for a moment you gape at him - didn't you save him (for a second) from fighting with France, didn't you stand up for him and defend his cooking (which was actually good, by the way) and didn't you -

How very haughty and uptight and unnecessarily mean of him. You can almost just feel annoyed - yes, you _are_ annoyed now. Immensely.

"What kind of a gentleman are you?" you say, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. It wasn't as though you actually wanted to make _friends, _per se, but really, why did he always have to...

Something flickers in Arthur's eyes that you can't quite place, but it's gone in a second and he's back to his aloof old self again.

"Well," he says brusquely, "since it seems you're going to be my colony for quite a while, you might as well get used to it."

You can't believe your ears.

"Wait, _what_!?" you exclaim incredulously. "You did _not_ just say -"

"Arthur!" Alfred looks shocked. "We're way past the colonial age by now! Let _ be a free country, for heaven's sakes -"

"But of course not," says Arthur offhandedly, crushing your hopes immediately. "The responsibility goes to me since some other countries seem to be in too great of a debt to do any good" - Alfred grumbles and says nothing more - "and after all, new countries do not go unclaimed. Welcome to the real world, _ ," he says sarcastically.

"Not even an ally - you have to make me a _colony_!? _Your _colony!?" You're so horrified you can barely even speak properly. "And I thought you were a _gentleman_, for the love of -"

"Are you trying to imply something here!?" Arthur is turning a very nice shade of red, plus he looks angrier than you've ever seen him before. Not a good combination.

"I thought _you _were implying something!" you retort, feeling your own face warm.

"..."

Now Arthur's at a loss for words. He's just gaping at you with his face all red and as you look at him you realize he might not have meant what you thought he meant after all. And then you're turning even redder.

"All right, all right, make way for the hero now," Alfred says grandly, stepping in between you and Arthur and breaking the staring contest. "What _are _you guys going on about anyway?"

You try to glare at Arthur again but you're intercepted by Alfred, who's looking at you amusedly. "You do know Arthur really is a gentleman, right?"

"Hey! Stop talking as though I'm not here!" shouts Arthur from behind him, and you're almost one-hundred-percent sure he's still blushing madly.

You look up at the sky instead. "How would I even know? I only met you two today."

Alfred sighs. "Okay, well, just think of Russia and France. Or Prussia, even."

Then you blanch and blush successively. "W-wh-_why _would you evertry to remind me of _them_!?"

"...And now, think of Arthur," Alfred says breezily, with a mischievous smile on his face.

"_You are the most horrible person I've ever met, Alfred_," you growl slowly and deliberately, and Alfred doubles over, laughing uncontrollably.

"Well, that makes two of us then," Arthur says to no one in particular, but you hear it anyway.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the late update! School is a beast ONLY THREE MORE WEEKS OF TORTURE STILL. Anyway...glad to have finished this, and I hope to update again soon! :D There's also been some minor changes to previous chapters, but nothing really affecting the plot. Yeah..

Please review! :D


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